A Question of Sanity
by Alex the Anachronistic
Summary: Just another 'What If'...What if Voldemort decided at the last minute that the prophecy as related by Trelawney referenced Neville and not Harry? Focuses on the relationship between Snape and Lily in this circumstance.


_I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K._

"Well, the prophesy didn't name Harry as the one to vanquish the Dark Lord. It only said that his parents had thrice defied him and that he would be born at the end of the seventh month. If Voldemort had decided that Neville was the one, Lily might not have died. Granted, she would probably be in the permanent spell-damage ward at St. Mungo's with permanent brain damage, instead," w_here Neville's parents are_, she thought, "but she'd still be alive."--swerley, _Her Gifts, _Chapter 15.

What if Voldemort decided at the last minute that the prophesy meant Frank and Alice Longbottom, and thus the position of the Longbottoms and the Potters was reversed? Similar to and inspired by Sindie's _The Moment It Began_, and Matt Quinn's _The Wrath of the Half-Blood Prince_, this story will outline the course of events following the tweaking of a single aspect of Snape's history. Unlike those stories, however, which focus on the point in Snape's teenagehood wherein he commits the foul atrocity of calling Lily a 'Mudblood', this story begins after Snape's revelation of the prophecy and consequential conversion from follower of Voldemort to spy of Dumbledore, when he fears for the lives of the Potter family.

_Thanks to Aindel S. Druida for her beta work!_

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**Prologue**

Snape realized his inner lip was bloody, a result of anguished bitings of the tongue. The sick taste of iron filled his dry mouth, which was dehydrated and furry in texture due to his inattention to water that day. He wondered if the Dark Lord could smell it from his place halfway across the room, directly in front of the fireplace, seated in the finest leather armchair the Malfoys could provide. Snape retracted a little bit into the anchient horsehair loveseat he shared with two other Death Eaters, and shuddered as if hit by a draft.

He was incredibly worried. This meeting precursed a quest to 'fulfill' a silly prophecy that he had relayed to the Dark Lord some time prior, and his stomach was in pretzel-like knots. His main fear was that Dumbledore would not come through on his promise to save Lily. _Will she be saved? I don't care if Potter dies of course, but if it means Lily is saved--oh, but she can't die. Dumbledore is a strong wizard, and is perfectly capable of saving her. Perfectly capable. _

Voldemort stirred in his chair, and Snape quickly colored his thought palate with visions of excitement for the evening's activities. _Destroying an old enemy, that'll sure be grand. _

His quick reaction was for naught, as the Dark Lord merely laid down the piece of paper in his hands and turned to face his followers with closed eyes. Snape knew what was on the paper; it was in his handwriting.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._"

Ever since Severus had scribbled this down on the back of an old scrap of blotting parchment, the Dark Lord had treasured the little fragment as a well-bred woman guards her chastity. It was more than a little unnerving, to know what was consistently on his mind, and Severus was none too pleased at the perspective.

Voldemort opened his eyes, regarding the company with a fascinating inattention that instantly quieted every side-conversation and turned every eye towards his figure. When silence came to the lips of every individual in the room, the Dark Lord began to speak.

"I have a brief announcement to make before we depart."

No one dared to ask what it was, but waited for him to elaborate. With a small, scheming smile, he continued.

"Harry Potter is not the boy meant by the prophecy."

Gasps erupted from every person in the room, whether they were truly surprised or not. Snape, as it were, breathed an intense sigh of relief which no one registered.

Looking as smug as an uncle who, after hearing his nephews criticize him behind his back that he was miserly, made hypocrites of them by walking in the room and giving them fivers, Voldemort gazed at the company.

"This is surprising, I imagine, but I do have my reasons for making this switch. Understand, I knew the whole time that it was Neville Longbottom. No one but a pureblood could ever hope to take on Lord Voldemort--the championon of the purebloods--in his prime." He egotistically put a hand on his chest and breathed deeply, to which the automatic response of his followers was to nod enthsiastically. "Harry Potter is the son of a single pureblood father, James Potter, but also the spawn of a most heinous bitch of a Mudblood."

Snape's everlasting scowl deepened by three unnoticible millimeters.

Voldemort continued droning. "Longbottom, by far, is the most worthy opponent--the son of two 'fine upstanding' purebloods who are reportedly hightly involved in the damned Order of the Phoenix. However, after tonight he will not exist. My future power will be increasingly secured when we nip him in the bud, my friends! Now, if you are in any way confused by this sudden change of plans, it is understandable. No one save myself knew of this truth."

Lucius Malfoy, looking rather hurt, stood forward. "Are we not trusted by you, then, My Lord?"

A cold, mirthless laugh erupted from the addressed. "No, my dear Lucius, you most certainly are trusted. However," he said, casting a sly glance around the room, "I cannot be certain of everyone here."

_We're supposed to trust this blatant hypocrite while he ensures no trust in us? _Snape pondered to himself, in his usual complaint._ I don't know why the hell I haven't gotten out of this dump before. _Then, without real warning to himself, he stood in imitation of Lucius. It was his habit to do whatever Lucius did--except the foolish things--because Lucius was favored by Voldemort, and at one time Snape had wished such an honor for himself.

"And I, My Lord? Am I held in suspicion as well?"

_If I truly loved Voldemort, I would be standing in idignition just like old Malfoy. May as well play the part. _

Others followed his lead.

"Am I suspected?"

"My Lord, am I?"

"Oh, My Lord!"

In response, Voldemort held up one hand in a tired fashion, instantly quieting the multitudes. "My fellows," he pronounced carefully, "I will make no excuses for myself beyond the fact that I suspect all of you simply out of desire to be careful. Surely you can understand that?"

Heads were dully lowered in shame.

"Anyhow," Voldemort went on, disregarding any discomfort of his followers. "Shall we embark on our foray?" he queried with the mock courtesy he used so often. "I see the time is approaching twelve. All of the plans are the same, save our destination, which will be the house of the Longbottoms in Bristol, 143 Little Leghorn Drive. Amy Butler will guide us tonight instead of Peter Pettigrew. Those of you who are not accompanying us on our mission, don't bother with Godric's Hollow tonight; the brat there is not worth a shilling, much less your time."

Indeed, in the ensuing silence, the large grandfather clock near the door chimed. At its sound, all the Death Eaters began to move towards the fireplace or the door, mumbling and murmuring, and Severus shivered.

"Whaz wrong, mate?" asked Samuel Munch, one of the younger Death Eaters who had taken a shining to Snape, possibly because they shared large noses (though Severus' trumped all competitors). Severus shook his head in response.

"A goose walking over my grave," he said by way of vague explanation. _Though that's quite opposite,_ he thought as glee descended upon him with increasing fury. _Dumbledore kept his promise. Somehow he did it. I don't know how, but he did it. _

Then, as he began to jostle his way out the door with other Death Eaters, it suddenly struck him that there was one person absent from the meeting that day: Peter Pettigrew.

_And he was supposed to be here, to be our guide at the Potter's. Either Voldemort told him the change of plans and gave him the night off or . . ._

The reason for the nasty little rat's absence was suddenly very clear indeed. Despite himself, a huge grin broke out on his face, beyond his control. Snape was jubilant.

_Lily is safe. Thank you, Dumbledore. Thank you, God. _

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_Review. It's what you do. _


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